


Who will stop the rain?

by macgyvershe



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BBC Sherlock AU, John nor Sherlock die, M/M, Sad, Talk of Dying, Understanding John, dry sweet, mental health issues not our guys, silent Sherlock, talk of death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-06 23:17:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16842421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/macgyvershe/pseuds/macgyvershe
Summary: Is John angry, or is some other emotion involved? Only Sherlock can suss it out what has befallen John to upset him so thoroughly. John and Sherlock are in a close relationship. Mentions of individual with severe mental health issues.John looks up, his midnight blue eyes are filled with storm clouds churned by turbulent winds. Stars careening in galaxies fraught with pain.





	Who will stop the rain?

**Author's Note:**

> Neither John nor Sherlock die here. If talk of death and dying are triggers for you. Please don't read this story. It is sad and uplifting at the same time. I don't want to say too much as it will give away the plot.

Sherlock lays recumbent upon the couch in his favorite position; hands at ‘imitation prayer’, eyes closed and a whisper of a smile upon his lips.

John trudges up the stairs. His slicker is dripping wet from the down pour outside. Several bags of groceries in each hand, he views his dry, Mind Palace dreaming flatmate. 

“It’s TOTALLY OKAY. I can handle this entirely by myself. Thank you very much.” John’s sarcastic tone is sharply evident as he moves into the kitchen.

“Did you remember to stop by the morgue and pick up...”

John drops his grocery bags on the kitchen floor. Huffs out a deep breath. Straightens to his military height, turns abruptly, coming back out to the sitting room.

He lifts his slicker off and flicks the excess water onto his bone dry flat mate.

Sherlock doesn’t move or make a sound as the cold water splatters him. Rolling to a sitting position he scans John.

“A rather difficult day.” Sherlock states without condemnation.

Throwing his slicker over a kitchen chair. John leans against the door jam, lowers his head and exhales a breath that clearly confirms Sherlock’s deduction.

Standing, Sherlock approaches John. He is a hand’s-breadth away; not venturing further than that. 

“An incident this morning has deflated your normally buoyant character. You never made it to work. You’ve had to suppress your feelings all day; carrying a heavy heart.”

John looks up, his midnight blue eyes are filled with storm clouds churned by turbulent winds. Stars careening in galaxies fraught with pain. 

Sherlock’s face crumbles. He’s not seen this in his doctor before. He’s not seen his soul on display. His heart pierced. Still. He holds himself still. What he knows. What he can discern. He can not afford be wrong in this.

Sherlock holds out his arms. Tears form in John’s eyes. Slowly, with hesitant steps John moves toward the comfort he needs like his lungs need air.

Enfolding his flatmate/best friend/person who is so much more to him than these simple words can convey, into his long limbed embrace. He feels John sobbing. Tears like a tsunami begin to wet this shirt. Sherlock tightens his grip and slowly takes John’s full weight. 

Silent. Still Sherlock is silent. The heavy rain outside and the crackle of the fire inside and John’s weeping, the only sounds that permeate the flat. 

“You saved the child.” Sherlock whispers into John’s hair.

John looks up into the saddened face of his Sherlock. “How could you possibly know...”

“You held the child so tightly. There is still the faint scent of the infant on your shirt.” 

John’s face crumbles. A tiny smile threatening to crinkle the skin around his eyes and mouth. 

“Of course, you’d know.”

“Come sit by the fire and warm up. I’ll make some hot brandy.” Guiding John to the couch he pulls one of Mrs. H’s afghans from his chair and wraps John in it. Hurriedly he puts the kettle on and quickly and efficiently stows all the groceries.

Coming back with two warm brandies, he sits next to John who immediately curls up against him. Pulling them both under the large afghan. 

Sipping at their mugs, Sherlock holds John firmly.

“When you came up the stairs, I thought that you were pissed off about the rain, the inclement weather was not the source of your anger. You weren’t angry. You were filled with sorrow.”

Sherlock waits for John to begin his story. Patiently he waits.

“I was in the tube. There was a woman holding her child. She was holding the child so tightly. Too tightly. Sherlock, I could see that something was wrong. I observed the way you’ve shown me. I knew she was going to...”

“She was going to jump in front of the train with her child.” Sherlock states in a strained voice that cracks at the mention of the child.

“I ran to stop her. I was almost there, Sherlock. I grabbed for them both. I did.”

“I know you did, John. I know you saved the child. Her child. You did good. As good as you possibly could.”

“She died. I couldn’t stop her. I couldn’t.” At those words, John totally breaks down. 

Sherlock takes John’s mug, along with his own, and sets both down on the coffee table. Now John becomes his total focus. His huge hands both cradle and rub up and down John’s back. Giving what physical comfort that he can.

“Think back, John. She was holding the child so tightly. Yet when you reached for her, gripping for all you are worth. The child came away into your arms. She looked into your eyes and saw that you cared. She let go the child in that second. Making her own decision about herself.”

John, trance like, goes back to that moment. The woman, eyes wild and fearful. Then, yes, a sudden knowing in her face. A flicker of calm in her eyes. 

{Yes, this stranger cares about my child. I will trust him. I will give her over to his charge.}

“She did let go, Sherlock. She did! How did you know?”

Sherlock smiles from his heart, from his spirit. “You told me, John. You observed. You were in the moment. Where is the child now?”

“They took her into child protective custody. I didn’t want to let her go, Sherlock. She didn’t cry or fuss at all. Kept looking at me with those inquiring, green eyes.”

Sherlock grabs his mobile from the side table. Texting one handed, he stands lifting John with him. 

“I think we need to find your little friend. A little help from brother mine, will get us a line on her.”

“But there are laws, Sherlock and she may have family that will want to take her in.”

“We won’t know what is happening if we sit here.”

“You want to look into taking in a child. I’d never thought that of you, love.”

“I’ve never seen my husband’s love for an orphaned child, crush my heart. Put your slicker back on and find your hat. This may be a long, long evening.”

John’s smile if radiant. His eyes are over flowing again, but this time these waters are a rain of joy and who will stop the rain?

Definitely not Sherlock Holmes.


End file.
